5 Times Sherlock Said The Wrong Thing
by RemyDico5
Summary: And 1 Time He Said Something Right. John is angry and Sherlock doesn't know what he did wrong. All he knows is that John won't have sex with him until he says the right thing. Sherlock/John established relationship.


1.

Sherlock frowned at his tea, the past few days running through his head on repeat. John was angry, not livid or he would be shouting, but he was angry. In fact he hadn't spoken to Sherlock in four days other than clipped, one syllable words. They were still sharing a bed but John stayed decidedly on his side and refused to even cuddle, so sex was right out.

Any attempts on Sherlock's part to initiate intercourse of the last four days had been expertly brushed off or blatantly ignored. If there was one thing Sherlock couldn't abide, it was being ignored.

The main issue was that Sherlock had no idea what was the cause of all this. There hadn't been any fight leading up to John's behaviour so Sherlock was at a loss for how to fix it. But John was clearly upset about something and Sherlock would just have to find the right thing to say so they could go back to the mind-blowingly good shagging.

"I love you." Sherlock said as he sat at the kitchen table doing an experiment. John was busy making risotto with his back to Sherlock. If he had heard, he made no acknowledge of it. Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke louder. "I said I love you."

"That's nice." John said dishing up food for himself and then leaving the kitchen, his footsteps a bit heavier than usual, well on their way to stomping around. He went and sat in his red chair, turning on the telly and putting the volume up loud enough that Mrs. Hudson could probably hear it. Sherlock sighed and abandoned his experiment to dish himself up some of the risotto and went to sit in his leather chair opposite John.

2.

It had been another two days and now Sherlock was completely at a loss. John had never been mad at him for so long before. It made being at home extremely awkward and the tension in the room was palpable.

John was busy cleaning the flat, hoovering and dusting to save Mrs. Hudson the extra effort. Sherlock sat on the sofa, watching John out of the corner of his eye while he tried to think of what to say to fix this. He had honestly believed that telling John he loved him would work. It wasn't the first time he had said it but usually when he did, John melted like butter.

It was unbelievably frustrating and Sherlock just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Usually he wasn't starved for conversation but in this case he missed it. He missed John telling him about his day even though he could deduce most of it the moment John walked through the door. He missed the easy conversations over dinner. He missed _John _as silly as that was with John standing not ten steps away from him. But having him in the flat wasn't nearly enough. He craved the way John used to lean over and kiss him before heading off to work or how he'd stroke the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck or even spooning in bed.

And of course the sex. My God did Sherlock miss sex. He'd gone thirty-five years without and had never experienced sexual frustration before, but six days without John and he was feeling it bad. Every night when they got into bed, Sherlock imagined how easy it would be to close the distance between them and kiss John deeply, conveying exactly what he wanted John to do to him. But as if John could hear what he was thinking, he'd get into bed facing away from Sherlock, pull the covers up to his chin and turn off the light.

"John." Sherlock said from the couch. John turned off the hoover and looked at Sherlock expectantly. "You were right."

"Right about what?"

"Just…right in general?" Sherlock winced, knowing already that he was saying the wrong thing. "Right about everything?" he tried again.

John rolled his eyes and turned the hoover back on, drowning out any other attempts at conversation.

3.

John was sitting at his desk, updating his blog with his infuriating two finger typing. Sherlock walked up behind him and slipped his arms around John's waist, resting his chin against John's shoulder. "You are amazing." Sherlock said, kissing John's temple. "You are fantastic."

John pushed his chair back and almost rammed Sherlock in the stomach if he hadn't stepped back. John stabbed his arms into his jacket and mumbled something about the pub. Sherlock stared at the door, dumbfounded, long after John had slammed it shut.

4.

Sherlock was at the edge of his rope. It had been a week and a half since John had been sulking. So that night after John had turned off the lights, Sherlock moved so he was on top of him and pinned his wrists on either side of his head. He buried his face in the hollow of John's throat and placed soft kisses against his skin.

"Fuck me." Sherlock said, his voice a deep rumble as he bit the shell of John's ear. "Please John. Fuck me. I know you want to."

John wrenched himself out of Sherlock's grip and grabbed him by his shirt collar, dragging him to the door. He shoved Sherlock through it roughly and then threw a pillow at him, growling at him to sleep on the couch before slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Deflated, Sherlock spent the night of the sofa, looking wistfully at the locked bedroom door.

5.

"I've had enough!" Sherlock slammed his fist against the desk, making John jump in surprise, probably because they were the first words he'd spoken all day. "What is the use of you being angry if I have no idea what you're angry about? I can't think of any grievances I've caused you as of late."

"That's exactly the problem!" John shouted back, getting to his feet.

"Why don't you just tell me what I did wrong?" Sherlock asked, tugging his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"It's not important." John pinched his lips together.

"Of course it's important. You wouldn't be holding this over my head for the past _two weeks _if it weren't important." Sherlock walked over and used his height to his advantage to loom over John. Unfortunately John was not one to be easily intimidated, especially not by his lack of stature. They were both breathing heavily, hands fisted in anger and Christ did Sherlock need to be shagged if _this_ was enough to get him hard.

"Drop it Sherlock. I should have known better than to expect you to -"

"To what?" Sherlock yelled in aggravation.

"Forget it." John shook his head, pushing past Sherlock and heading towards the door.

"That's right, walk away like usual. You know I'm becoming well acquainted with the back of your head." Sherlock shouted after him before the door was closed so violently that the windows shook.

+1

Sherlock stomped his way into Scotland Yard, needing a distraction, anything to keep his mind off John and what he might be doing. He made his way to Lestrade's office, hoping for a murder, a robbery, anything. If the criminal classes were going to fail him, he would just have to solve a few cold ones, anything to keep from going home to his empty flat.

"Hey." Lestrade greeted him cheerfully when he stepped into his office, clearly not reading Sherlock's foul mood.

"Please tell me there's been a murder." Sherlock begged, putting his hands on Lestrade's desk and leaning over it to look at his case files.

'Nothing that would strike your fancy I'm afraid." Lestrade replied, sitting in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. "How'd the anniversary go?"

"What anniversary?" Sherlock asked, slightly thrown by the non-sequitur.

"Your anniversary…" Lestrade filled in, waiting for Sherlock to catch up. "It sounded like John had some pretty big plans from what he told me about it. Then again one year is a pretty big deal. We'd all laid bets that you'd kill each other by now but then John does have the patience of a saint. So was it great? What did you two end up doing?"

Sherlock felt faint, his face even sicklier pale than usual. He gripped Lestrade's desk for fear he might fall over. He stared blankly at Lestrade's desk, blinking in confusion.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade said, concern evident in his voice. "Sherlock?"

"No." Sherlock whispered. "That can't be right, it can't be."

"Don't tell me you forgot." Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest and looked vaguely horrified.

Sherlock thought back to two weeks ago, to when John had begun being angry with him. Sherlock had been at Bart's morgue, a small car collision had left him with six dead bodies to experiment on and it had been too good to pass up. He vaguely remembered a few missed calls from John until finally a text had come in asking where he was. Sherlock had shot back his reply, telling John not to wait up, too lost in his experiments to care. He had assumed John had just been wondering where he'd been and why he wasn't home. He hadn't thought anything else by it, John usually checked in when he wasn't home.

"Oh God." Sherlock buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"You complete and utter twat." Lestrade said, indignant on John's behalf.

"No wonder he's been angry with me." Sherlock mumbled into his hands.

"Angry? I would have been furious. In fact I probably would have chucked your arse out on the streets."

"I - I have to go." Sherlock said in a slight daze, his feet somehow managing to carry him out of Lestrade's office.

When he got outside it was pouring rain and made it almost impossible to get a cab. Sherlock growled in frustration as each taxi passed by, ignoring his outstretched hand. Finally, he took off running, knowing exactly what streets to take to get him to Baker Street as quickly as possible.

By the time he was bounding up the seventeen steps, he was soaked down to his underwear and shivering but it hardly registered. He banged open the door and John twisted in his chair to look at him. Sherlock swallowed and tried to catch his breath as John stared at him.

"Sherlock - "

"I'm an idiot." Sherlock interjected breathlessly from the doorway.

"Lestrade?" John inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock nodded, still out of breath, his chest heaving from the exertion.

"Wondered how long it would take you to figure it out." John said with a wry smile.

"I'm so sorry John." Sherlock said miserably.

John got up out of his seat and walked over, cupping his hand over Sherlock's cheek, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "It's all right." John said gently.

"It's not." Sherlock shook his head.

"I knew you'd be rubbish at this, I guess I just wasn't prepared for how much."

"I can be better." Sherlock promised, placing a kiss on the palm of John's hand. "Please don't leave me."

"Leave you?" John echoed in surprise. "Why would I do that?"

"The past two weeks you've been angry with me, you haven't touched me, you've barely spoken to me. I honestly would blame you if -"

"Sherlock, stop. I'm touching you now, aren't I? We're talking now, aren't we?"

Sherlock nodded, biting his bottom lip nervously.

"I wasn't upset because you forgot our anniversary. Okay, maybe I was a bit. But a part of me kind of expected it. I was just hurt that you had continued not to realize why I was upset with you. The smartest man in London can't even remember something as simple as a one-year anniversary? Then I realized how idiotic I was being. Of course you wouldn't remember."

"I'm sorry John, I will remember. I promise, I'll - I'll make it up to you."

"Sherlock." John said affectionately as he moved his hand to the nape of the taller man's neck and brought him down so their forehead were resting against each other's. "It's fine, we're fine. I still love you even though you are an enormous twat."

"Why is everyone calling me a twat today?" Sherlock asked, pouting.

"Because you are a twat." John grinned and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's middle. "But you're also amazing." John kissed Sherlock's cheek. "And fantastic." he moved to kiss the other one. "And sexy." he kissed Sherlock's nose. "And Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how difficult it's been to keep my hands off you these past two weeks?" John brushed his lips against Sherlock's before pulling away. Sherlock instantly grabbed John and smashed their lips together hungrily.

They kissed until they had to come up for air. They broke away reluctantly, both of them panting with their cheeks rubbing against each other.

"Come on." John said seductively against Sherlock's ear. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes."

"Oh God, finally." Sherlock groaned, letting John lead him towards the bedroom.


End file.
